


I'll Take a XIII With a Side of Mutual Pining

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, Fuckbuddies, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29349849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: When Anders hands Fenris a Tevene spintria, Fenris decides to take the man up on his unintentional offer and show him a good time at The Hanged Man. Now they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other, and they keep poking their noses into each other’s business and lives.
Relationships: Fenris/Anders
Comments: 29
Kudos: 89





	1. ab ovo (from the egg, from the beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> This was born because of a beautiful little drawing by mago-emplumado, seen [here](https://mago-emplumado.tumblr.com/post/155757523793/basically-fenris-and-anders-rent-a-room-at-the), and seeing a picture of Roman spintria, Wikipedia article [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spintria). The two blended together in my mind until this came out, where it’s been stewing in my Google docs for nearly three months. But now it is here! Thank you for being patient with me and enduring my horrible Latin.

Isabela didn’t wake up early. She wasn’t a late riser by any means, but when she had the opportunity to sleep she took it. When you were sailing you woke up when you were needed, and on the sea you were always one turn away from being desperately needed. Sleep was a luxury, and Isabela indulged in it as often as she was able. However, she had to wake up and start the day eventually. When the Chantry bells rang to indicate that it was the tenth hour of the morning, Isabela stretched and rolled out of bed to make her way down from her rented accommodations in The Hanged Man to the tavern floor for a late breakfast and a bit of ale. Varric was already downstairs, set up in his customary seat in the corner that no other patron dared touch. Isabela made her way over and flopped down in the seat next to him.

“Morning, Rivani,” he said warmly. “Pleasant dreams?”

“Pleasant as they can be, darling. How’s the morning shaping up for you?”

“Hmmm, not too bad. Not bad at all. Someone in the room above the bar got rowdy last night. Corff had to bang the broom handle against the ceiling to get them to shut up,” Varric laughed. “Livened things up for a bit.”

“I can imagine,” Isabela grinned. Shame she missed out on the fun, but it had been an exhausting day of murder and mayhem down in the Bone Pit. By the time she crawled back to her room in the tavern she had just enough energy to bathe and flop into bed. Ah, well. There was always something happening at The Hanged Man, so it wasn’t a complete-

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” Varric murmured, raising one eyebrow as his mouth stretched into a wide, satisfied smirk. His golden brown eyes looked past Isabela, towards the stairs that led up to the rented rooms.

“Don’t look now, but you’ll never believe who is coming down,” he said. Isabela slowly turned her head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shock of pale hair, a lanky, muscular form with broad shoulders, all dressed in muted browns and black-

“Fenris?!” Isabela hissed. “Whatever is he doing here?” Fenris never went out if he could help it, as far as Isabela knew. He was cautious, used to lurking in shadows and keeping himself to himself. It took everyone’s combined efforts, from fun-loving Hawke to pious Sebastian to even sour-faced Aveline, to draw Fenris out of his well-fortified shell. So what was Fenris doing at The Hanged Man? Why had he spent the night there?! Curse hangovers, Isabela thought grimly. Her mind was as slow as molasses dripping off the end of a spoon while she raced to put the pieces of this puzzle together!

“Looks like he’s got a- well,” Varric reached into the breast pocket of his coat and tugged out a small booklet. His diary, Isabela always said, teased, but he insisted they were his notes for his future work. 

“ _Well!_ ” Varric added, taking out a pen with a flourish.

“Well what?” Isabela turned her head a little more, following as Fenris strode across the room towards Corff behind the bar, with a- a man! There was a man draped over Fenris' shoulder! Perhaps draped was too gentle, too elegant a word. It was more like he carried the man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. A sad, skinny sack wearing an oddly familiar teal green jacket, head covered in blond red hair with streaks of gray-

“Andraste’s Granny Panties, Varric,” Isabela whispered. “That’s _Anders_!”

“Shit gets weirder and weirder around here,” Varric mumbled as he frantically scribbled something into his little diary. “Should we send a runner up to Hawke? Stage an intervention? Prevent a murder?”

Isabela didn’t know what to say. She just stared as Fenris palmed Corff some coppers while carrying his sworn rival over his shoulder. Corff didn’t seem to find the situation odd (to be fair to Corff, the man was unflappable). Fenris didn’t seem rattled. Anders was clearly lost to the world, though Isabela was fairly certain the man was breathing, and he didn’t _look_ injured. And Fenris didn’t look angry, or even upset. Isabela leaned over the table and squinted, as if she could divine some hidden truth behind Fenris’ curiously neutral expression.

It was at that moment that Fenris turned around and met her gaze, olive green eyes locking onto hers. Isabela froze for a moment- one brief moment that dragged on for what seemed like an eternity- before she blinked. Fenris’ expression- blank, unsurprised- never shifted. He shrugged, hoisted Anders a little further up his shoulder, and strode out of The Hanged Man at a leisurely pace. The front door slammed shut behind him. No one else in the tavern looked up. No one else in the tavern took notice of this scene at all! Corff was back polishing glasses with a rag, Norah was shuffling back and forth from the kitchens to the table, and Maraas was sitting at the table with a fellow tavern patron playing a card game. No one took notice of Fenris carrying Anders out like a limp sack of flour! They were acting as if- as if this was normal! An everyday occurance at The Hanged Man!

“Did you see what I saw, Rivani?” Varric asked.

“Fenris carrying Anders out from the rooms upstairs? Yes, Varric, I did,” Isabela replied faintly.

“Guess there’s only one thing to do,” Varric said with a sigh as he heaved himself out of his seat. Isabela dragged herself up to her feet as well, wishing that Fenris could have waited until after she had breakfast to show up and turn the world upside down.

“We have to do some… research,” Varric announced.

“You know I love gossip, Varric,” Isabela said, her spirits already rising at the thought of digging into this little morsel of a mystery. Just like sleeping, you found your joys where you could. Right now she wanted to pry into this strange little incident with Fenris and Anders.

“Of course you do. And this may be the juiciest bit we’ve come across in years,” Varric replied with a smile. “All we have to do is get to the bottom of it, and find out where it all started.”

They narrowed in on Corff. Quiet, sullen, secret-keeper and confidante, Corff could always be relied on to know what was what in The Hanged Man. If anyone knew what happened between Fenris and Anders, it would be Corff, wouldn’t it? Isabela dragged herself out of her seat and made her way to the bar, Varric right behind her.

“So, Corff,” Isabela drawled, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bar top. “Do a lady a favor- the elf and the healer. How long has that been going on?”

“We’ll make it worth your while,” Varric added when Corff didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow.

“I’d have you pay for the bedframe they broke a fortnight ago, but the elf already settled his accounts. Unlike some people,” he said, and Isabela almost winced at the weight of his pale eyes resting on her. She quickly slipped two silvers over, which Corff pocketed before returning to cleaning the bar top.

“It started… nearly three months ago, by my reckoning,” Corff explained. “Here, at the bar, just to your left, Tethras…”

**_The Hanged Man, Three Months Earlier_ **

Despite his tendencies to keep his head down and his mouth shut, Fenris paid attention to things. He was always watching, always aware, forever ready for the worst. He had to be, always had to be. From the moment he woke up on that cold slab knowing nothing but pain, Fenris made it his habit to watch. He observed his surroundings, marked every exit, and watched every person who entered or left a building. Fenris was observant, and he naturally observed everyone who could be considered a threat.

It was a shame that so many of those threats originated from his closest companions. That was the problem with seeking competent help, Fenris supposed, but it was too late to regret his choices. He hardly ever regretted them. Hawke and all their friends (their many, many friends) brought a sense of security the likes which Fenris only ever dreamed of, and he found that he was plagued with a desire to know his companions. So he watched.

Curiosity had always been his greatest fault, Danarius claimed. Don’t ask questions, pet. You will lose focus. Fenris was coming to the belief that Danarius simply didn’t like his curiosity because he couldn’t control it the way he could leash Fenris’ body and direct his sword. No matter how hard he tried, Danarius could not chain his mind, not fully. So now that he was free, away from Danarius’ machinations, Fenris could observe his companions and wonder. Someday he may grow bold enough to ask them questions, even if they were dangerous people. Even if they drew attention to themselves. Even if half of their number were Mages.

Hawke was refreshingly open and upfront, all the power of an Altus Mage and none of the arrogance. He would be a threat as an enemy, but somehow Hawke considered him a _friend_ , which was baffling. Trust was hard to build and Fenris was not familiar with the art of creation, but with time, between Hawke’s patience and Fenris’ determination, they managed to forge some level of trust between them. The others followed in various fashions. While some of their shared companions were not dear friends, they were warily accepted as people Fenris trusted. For example, he trusted Isabela to not steal his coin outside of a card game. He trusted Merrill to always have something to say about the history and customs of the Dalish. He trusted Varric to always pry into his past. These were all things Fenris trusted in, as certain as the sun rising and the tide rushing in and out of the bay.

And then there was Anders.

He was a prickly sort of man that was impossible to predict. Impossible to trust. He never hesitated to spit insults towards Fenris, never hesitated to mouth off at him- but you could never trust his words, for they never held constant with his actions. Anders wouldn’t let him bleed out on the cold hard ground, either out of respect and love for Hawke or his sense of duty as a healer. Anders might grumble and moan and complain about Fenris and his many injuries, but he never failed to patch him up when the battles were done. Sometimes Fenris caught the man smiling at something he said- some wry comment, some sarcastic quip- but then Anders would quickly turn his head away and Fenris could never be sure if Anders had been smiling at the joke or some passing thought. Those brown eyes hid too many secrets.

Anders, Fenris decided, was complicated. Complicated meant uncertain, meant danger, and Fenris could not court more danger at this (or any) time. So Fenris learned to live with the constant nuisance that was Anders and the existential nightmare he represented: he ignored him when he could, avoided him when he was able, and, when there was no other option, he argued. His curiosity itched at him, made him want to ask questions, want to understand why Anders was the way he was (irritating, compassionate, hard-headed, arrogant, determined, complicated), but Fenris’s caution always won out in the end. It was better to be safe and unknowing than to know and regret, at least when it came to Anders. But this, Fenris realized with dismay, was uncharted territory. This was _new_.

Fenris didn’t know what he expected when Anders cornered him after a game of Wicked Grace at The Hanged Man- they had, by their standards, spent a pleasant evening ignoring each other and concentrating on the game. Well, Fenris amended, he concentrated on the game. If Anders was actually taking the game seriously Fenris might (might!) have felt sorry for him. He had to be losing on purpose. No one could possibly be that bad at cards. But now Anders followed him to the bar, a small smirk playing on his thin lips, a smile lurking in those odd, cat-like eyes, and Fenris once again wondered what he was thinking. Anders was impossible to predict, impossible to know, but Fenris wanted to know him regardless of the dangers. He hated his blasted curiosity, how it urged him to fling himself headlong into danger. Anders was a dangerous man, and Fenris should avoid him. But he wouldn’t. Fenris sipped at his weak ale and waited for Anders to speak.

“I owe you for this game,” Anders said easily, making light conversation. It was odd behavior. Anders didn’t make light conversation, least of all with Fenris. But one good turn deserves another, and if Anders was attempting civility then Fenris had to try as well. That was the proper thing to do. He couldn’t just walk away and leave Anders at the bar without a response!

“You owe me for many,” Fenris retorted. “Mage.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Oh please, not this again. I’m not trying to start a fight.”

“You are always picking fights,” Fenris muttered, and yet he stayed, waiting for Anders’ response because he wanted to _know_ why Anders was speaking with him, even if it led him into danger. He wanted to know Anders, even though it probably wouldn’t end well for either of them. Fenris’ thirst for knowledge was impossible to quench, but maybe, if he learned more about Anders, his curiosity could be sated for a little while.

“Not always!” Anders sounded almost flustered when he quickly amended his statement. “At least, not this time. Bad place to pick a fight anyways, I don’t want to tangle with the Qunari in the corner, do you?”

“Maraas? He won’t fight you,” Fenris said, growing increasingly confused- anxious- about the strange turn this little conversation was taking. What did Anders want? Why was he so hard to understand? He wanted to know- know thy enemy, know them well, observe every movement, every feature, learn and know them as well as you know yourself. And yet another part of Fenris wanted to run. These parts of him warred against each other until, exhausted, Fenris simply waited, body tense, expecting the worst.

“Look, I’m just- here,” Anders grumbled and slapped a small bronze coin on the bar’s stained and beaten wood countertop. The bronze gleamed dully in the lamplight, the engravings worn smooth with age and the passing of many hands, but Fenris recognized the Tevene script and, more importantly, the two figures reclining on a couch, locked in a passionate embrace. He never expected to encounter one here, but Kirkwall was once an outpost of the empire. It made sense that some traditions lingered on, embedded in the nooks and crannies of the city.

Fenris didn’t realize that Anders knew what those traditions meant.

“Well? You always have something to say, so say it and be done with it,” Anders muttered.

“... do you even know what this is?” Fenris asked, refusing to pick up the coin. Anders scoffed, rolled his eyes, and made a pained expression as if he found Fenris’ question annoying and insulting. Fenris wasn’t surprised. It was never easy between them. They were not easy people. Perhaps that was something concrete to put his faith in- the sun rose in the morning, and he and Anders annoyed each other. This conclusion was unsatisfying, and while Fenris wanted to sit with that strange feeling and puzzle out _why_ it left him feeling hollow inside, Anders opened his mouth to speak again.

“Don’t get high and mighty with me, Fenris. I’ve worked in brothels before. I know what spinitriae are,” Anders grumbled. Fenris tried to process that information- Anders worked in brothels. He understood exactly what he placed in front of Fenris. He knew what a spinitria was, what they were _used_ for, and he knew Fenris knew and- and what? What now? Was this a joke? Some strange ritual for apostate Mages or Wardens? Or was this Anders being strange? It could always be Anders being strange.

“I just- look. I don’t have much coin to spare at the moment, so there,” Anders sighed, running one thin, long hand through his wheat-colored hair. “Head down to the Rose, have a nice time, my treat. Or we can modify it and I can, I don’t know, give you a massage? Work through those tense muscles in your back. Might make you less of a tit.”

“... it’s a spinitra that represents coitus interfemoris. Not massages for medicinal purposes,” Fenris retorted, keeping his voice soft so they would not be overheard by Hawke or, Maker forbid it, Isabela. “Unless the thirteen has a different context in southern brothels, which I doubt.”

Anders’ face flushed, a pink glow spreading across his pale cheeks until he looked almost healthy. It was… interesting. With the flush and the interplay of shadow and light on his face, Anders looked shockingly young, and almost innocent. His eyes darted towards the counter, to the coin, and there was something strangely sweet about the way he bit his lower lip, the way his eyelids went heavy for a fraction of a second, the way the flush crept up his pale neck. But then he scowled, and the weight of age and experience returned to his face and he was Anders again, belligerent and sharp and familiar. Watching the shift in his face was strangely appealing- it was new, yes, but comforting. Anders wasn’t always arrogant, wasn’t always bitter- he could smile and flush and be an undignified mess of muttering and blushing. That was… new. New, but not unwelcome.

“Really? You can just say thigh-fucking, Fenris. Coitus interfemoris, fuck me…” he grumbled, but he didn’t move away. He didn’t storm off to complain to someone else. He stayed at the bar, next to Fenris, close enough that they could touch if Fenris dared move his hand. It was new. It was strange. He should go. It would be safer to leave Anders and his oddities behind at the bar.

“We can easily do that, if you have the coin,” he said instead, and Anders… laughed. Truly laughed, a disbelieving cackle that rose above the din of the tavern and made Fenris wonder if he could manage to make it happen again. There was no bitterness in that laugh, no derision. It was pure and simple shock mixed with delight, and it smoothed away the uneasy waves of anxiety roiling in his gut. Here was something they had in common, beyond irritating each other- a common thread that Fenris trusted in.

“I didn’t realize you had a sense of humor under that frown, Fenris,” Anders said when he finally caught his breath. “You should show it more often.” The smile on his face was soft, almost friendly, and it felt… it _was_... fragile. Fenris was no good with fragile things, and he dreaded breaking the strange truce that fell over them.

“I will consider it,” Fenris said, hoping he did not sound as clumsy as he felt. His gaze fell on the brass coin that sat between them on the wooden bar top, and he gently traced the faded engraving of the entwined couple with his finger. The brass was almost smooth, worn from passing from hand to hand over the years. He wondered what it would be like to go to the Rose and trade in spintria, make his payments using the old traditions- a coin for a favor, no words needed. But perhaps it was the ale and the light and the surprised laughter, but Fenris’ mind kept drifting to Anders and him. Him and Anders. An odd thing, made of fragile truces and shared knowledge, crafted from caution and strange rituals that only they understood. Complicated.

“It’s… look. I didn’t mean any offense. Truly. I just don’t have any money to pay your winnings. I figured I had to give you _something_ , and… well, I assumed you weren’t seeing anyone and might find it useful,” Anders shrugged. “If it isn’t, say the word and we’ll forget this conversation ever happened, eh?” His thin lips twisted up into a wry smile, a sort of smile that Fenris was far more familiar with. Yet this grin didn’t have the acidic bite he came to expect from Anders’ smiles, and Anders still lingered by his side, still close enough to touch.

“What about you? No need for it, Anders?” The name felt heavy, clumsy on his tongue, but the way Anders _looked_ at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, soft, body open and turned to him- Fenris could learn to use his name, _say_ his name, train with it until it came as naturally as drawing a sword from the sheath. He could learn to say Anders’ name if it meant he could have Anders look the way he did now more often. Fenris was… intrigued. He _wanted_ , and while he wasn’t quite sure what it was he was longing for he knew he wanted something, he wanted it from Anders, and he wanted Anders to want as well.

“I, ah. Well,” Anders stuttered, and Fenris wondered if unsettling Anders was truly so simple. “It’s… Justice doesn’t quite understand sexual gratification, never mind the spinitriae system, so it’s just taking up space in my empty coin purse. Might as well let someone enjoy it.”

“Is it a question of freedom or mechanics?” Fenris asked, the question slipping out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“It’s- well, the first one, if you must know,” Anders answered. “He’s perfectly capable of understanding the mechanics of sexual congress, Fenris, he just… doesn’t see the point. And then when you add in other people it becomes a philosophical debate on the nature of free will and consent and how sex is a waste of time, so it’s not like I get much of a chance to- Ugh. Now I’m blabbering. To you, of all people! Are you taking the coin or not?”

Fenris reached out and palmed the coin off the counter, clutching it tightly enough that the edges cut a groove into his palm. He wanted to stretch these few inches and brush his hand against Anders’ skin. He wanted to know what made Anders Anders. He wanted to dig into every last bit of him until he understood him to his bones. Fenris wanted to grip those bony hips in his hands and see if he could make Anders forget how to talk, at least for a little while. Perhaps it was foolishness that spurred him on. Perhaps it was desire. Perhaps it was his curiosity, damnable thing. Or perhaps like recognized like, and Fenris saw for one fraction of a second his own loneliness reflected in Anders’ sad brown eyes.

Fenris slipped the coin into Anders’ palm, pointedly locking eyes with him.

“I think a gift given is best shared,” Fenris murmured. “If you are willing?”

Anders stared at him, eyes wide, palm still open. He did not take the coin, but, Fenris noted, he did not outright reject it. He simply let it sit in his palm, like he let Fenris’ hand sit in his palm. Not holding, not rejecting, simply letting it sit there like a bird ready to take flight.

Fenris liked that.

“... you’re not joking,” Anders breathed out. “Andraste’s Tits, you’re serious.”

“You said yourself that my sense of humor is… lacking,” Fenris replied. “But I’m willing, if you are.”

“Well, fuck it,” Anders said with a laugh, and he curled his fingers around the coin, taking it in his palm and lacing his thin fingers between Fenris’. “Why not?”

Anders’ hand was warm as Fenris led him upstairs. Fenris’ heart pounded erratically in his chest, the off-beat thudding of his heart creating a strange tune when combined with his and Anders’ footfalls. He shouldn’t expect anything- he was expecting Anders to come to his senses and leave. He was expecting _himself_ to come to his senses and leave, but he shut the door behind him and Anders was suddenly there, in his space, carefully toying with a leather strap that secured his gauntlets to his hands. It should have been alarming, having a Mage, having _Anders_ , so close to him, but instead of fear there was a strange excitement that ran through him as he tugged at Anders’ jacket.

“Gauntlets off first,” Anders ordered, his voice a low, sultry purr that filled Fenris’ ears until he couldn’t hear anything else. Fenris tore at his gauntlets and let them fall to the floor, then returned his attention to Anders’ jacket, unbuckling every fastener with a speed he didn’t realize he possessed until both of them were bare-chested, clothing hanging off them like a snake’s freshly shed skin.

“Rules,” Anders murmured. “Where do- what’s your limit? So long as I’m not chained up and you listen when I say stop, I’m up for anything.”

Anything? The possibilities behind that simple word were overwhelming. Fenris shrugged and hoped he appeared nonchalant instead of terrified as he unlaced his leggings and pushed the thick cotton down his legs. Anders watched, interest clear in his cat-like golden brown eyes, and the look went straight to Fenris’ cock.

“No,” Fenris said, and he pushed Anders towards the bed, crawling after him. Anders laughed and kicked off his boots before shimming out of his leggings. His pale skin was dotted with little freckles and pale scars, evidence of a rough life full of battle and hardship. Fenris lay a hand on Anders’ thigh, brushing his palm against the soft dark gold hair that grew there. And thatch of hair between Anders’s legs was a dark reddish brown, the hairs wiry and curly. His cock rested against his pale stomach, thinner than Fenris’, flushed pink with a pearly drop of cum resting at the tip.

“Let us keep to the coin. For now,” he added, feeling a little out of his depth. He’d fucked before, but Anders was the last person he would have ever thought to have as a partner. But here in this small room above The Hanged Man, surrounded by scratchy wool blankets and flickering lamps, Fenris couldn’t quite think of _why_ he hadn’t thought of him and Anders before.

“That I can do,” Anders replied, his voice low and tempting. Fenris bit his lip to keep the groan from escaping his throat when Anders turned on his side and reached into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a little vial.

“It’s good for rough skin,” he explained. “Just some olive oil. If you… I can…” Anders poured some in the palm of his hand and spread it around to coat his palm.

“I- yes,” Fenris murmured, and Anders’ hand closed around his cock, warm and slick with oil. Anders’ touch was surprisingly gentle and considerate as he stroked up and down, covering Fenris’s cock with oil. Fenris wanted to bury his face into Anders’ neck, Anders’ touch and expression too intense to endure stoically.

“It’s alright,” Anders said gently when Fenris covered his mouth with his hand to prevent himself from moaning. “This stays between us.”

Fenris sighed and let himself drop beside Anders on the bed, curling against his back and wrapping one arm across his hip. With a little wriggle and nudge, Fenris’ slick cock slipped against the cleft of Anders’s ass, up to the small of his back, and back down again.

“Leg,” Fenris murmured, and Anders lifted his leg a little, capturing Fenris’ cock between his thighs.

There were some things that Fenris could not endure- blindfolds, ropes, restraints of any kind. It took him a great deal of focus to be comfortable with another body on top of his. But this? When he was curled up, his front pressed tightly to Anders’ back, thrusting between the slick tightness of his thighs, stroking Anders’ cock with his hand as he pressed his face into the back of Anders’ neck… when it was like this, Fenris felt safe.

“Fuck, of course you’d be good at this, too,” Anders moaned when Fenris ran his thumb over the sensitive head of Anders’ cock. He hid his smile against Anders’ shoulder and continued teasing and toying with Anders until he spilled in his hand and Anders’ deep, satisfied groan filled his ears. It didn’t take long for him to follow, hips stuttering until he came, the aftershocks rocking his body until he was an oversensitive mess.

It was blissfully quiet, the room full of the sound of their ragged breathing perfectly in tandem, until Anders laughed. “So, coitus interfemoris, huh?” he snickered. “Textbook example, I’d say.”

“I do not think you’ll find thigh-fucking in one of your medical texts, Anders,” Fenris grumbled, but when that comment only drew another laugh from Anders Fenris gave up any pretense of dignity and joined him, laughing until his lungs ached with the need to breathe.

Perhaps Anders was right. Perhaps he _did_ need to loosen up a little bit. The spintriae Anders offered was just the final push Fenris needed to take that chance and indulge himself.

**_The Hanged Man, Present Day_ **

“... and that’s all there is to say, at least on my end,” Corff finished his story, it was lacking in some detail. Isabela knew she and Varric could fill in those spaces later with more research (read: badgering their friends) and creativity.

“Thanks for all your help,” Varric replied. “So, three months now?”

“By my reckoning. Might be a fortnight more. Or less. But just around three months. Norah might know more. She’s the one who has to clean the room when they leave,” Corff explained, gesturing towards the woman, who was trudging up the stairs with a basket full of fresh linens and a bucket of steaming water. A boar’s hair bristle brush lay on top of the linen, along with a heavy ceramic jug with a cork stopper on top. Her dark hair was falling out of her bun.

“D’you think she’ll mind if we ask her a few questions?” Isabela asked Corff. Corff merely shrugged and returned to cleaning, eyeing the latest patrons to walk into the tavern with some suspicion. 

“Don’t get in her way, give her a coin or two, and she may talk,” he said, voice gruff. “Or she may not. Your funeral.”

“Thanks for the story, Corff,” Varric replied. Corff merely waved them away, attention fully fixed on the newcomers in his tavern. Varric gestured up to the stairs, and Isabela nodded. She took the steps two at a time, Varric at her heels. There was a mystery to solve here. Perhaps she and Varric now knew where this… arrangement between Fenris and Anders began, but it continued, consistently, for the past three months. Why?

They were going to find out.


	2. cedere nesico (I know not how to yield)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience (and enduring the Latin titles because aesthetic is king in my life).

Norah had stripped the bed and was beating the straw mattress with a sturdy carpet beater when Isabela and Varric entered the room. It looked like a storm tore through the small room, but Isabela couldn’t tell if the mess was due to the activities of the previous occupants or if that was just how Norah cleaned things. Without turning around Norah addressed them, her voice sharp and angry as she smacked the carpet beater against the mattress.

“The room isn’t open, so- oh, Isabela, Messere Tethras. Is something the matter?” she asked, and she lowered her carpet beater to her side like a swordsman lowered their weapon.

“Lots of work today, huh?” Isabela remarked as she stepped over the basket of clean bed linens. The pile of dirty linen was stacked on the floor in a mountain of muted, earth toned fabrics that Isabela wasn’t going to inspect any closer. She had some sense of boundaries, after all.

“Not too terrible. Bed’s still intact,” Norah replied, and was that a smile on her normally scowling face? Isabela was surprised, no, _shocked_! Norah could smile? Make jokes? Fenris and Anders were apparently miracle workers!

“We heard about that,” Varric said. “Did Fenris and Anders really…?” He didn’t have his little diary out, but his fingers were clearly itching to take out his pen and take some notes. Not that Isabela could blame him- the gossip was going to be delicious. And as soon as they put all these pieces together and figured out what Fenris and Anders were up to (beyond fucking each other’s brains out), they would have to tell their friends. Hawke was going to _love_ this- hadn’t they all wanted Fenris and Anders to get along? Everyone was going to be delighted by this change in their relationship!

“The bed? Oh yes,” Norah replied. “But it was all taken care of. That is, Fenris took care of it, and the healer offered to take care of Maraas’ bum shoulder after he moved the frame out so there’s no hard feelings.” She returned to beating the mattress again with a little more vigor, but there was still a smile resting at the corner of her lips.

“And it _was_ funny,” Norah added between the heavy thuds of the carpet beater smacking against the mattress. “The walk of shame is still the talk of the tavern, when they’re not around, of course…”

**_The Hanged Man, Two Months Ago_ **

Anders had a terrible headache, which wasn’t a surprise considering how little sleep he was operating on and how much healing he did today. There was an accident in the Bone Pit. No dragons of any kind, thank the Maker, but one of the scaffolds wasn’t nearly as strong as the owner claimed and it collapsed, burying miners under a pile of debris. The miners who weren’t trapped sent for help, for him, and dug their companions out. Thanks to the miner’s actions no one died, but it was a close thing. They were all lucky that the messenger was quick and Anders had a few bottles of spare lyrium to push him through the work. It was all taken care of and everyone was healed, and the mine was going to be closed for the next few days as they rebuilt the scaffolding. Now Anders was here, in The Hanged Man, sipping at a watered down ale and trying to pull himself together enough to drag himself back to his clinic.

After today Anders was left… rattled wasn’t the incorrect word, but it felt inadequate. It didn’t accurately describe the tenseness that lingered right between his shoulder blades, the ache behind his eyes, the tremble in his fingertips. Tired. He was tired, that was all. But exhaustion couldn’t fully encompass the terrible feeling that swept over him after he healed so many people from such serious injuries. If he had been slower, if he hadn’t had the lyrium, if the messenger got lost, if the Templars stormed in- so many things could have gone wrong, and all those people would be dead, and what if, what if! The what ifs haunted Anders every time he healed, right from the very moment he realized he had a talent for spirit healing. He had a gift, and every time he failed to save someone from their injuries, failed to defy death with his magic, it felt like a condemnation. And every time he succeeded it felt like a narrow escape, and his mind spiraled down the many possible paths that could have been traversed, the many possible ways he could have failed.

Today was a bad day, and Anders was spiraling.

As Anders drank, Justice assured him that those terrible things didn’t happen. It was no use worrying over what did not occur, Justice said, and while Anders knew he was right he could not shake that cloud of dread that hung over his head- if he had been late, if he had been any less prepared... Anders shuddered and downed the remnants of his watery ale again. When it was cut like this, Justice didn’t disapprove of the indulgence. No one else was going to drink it. So Anders drank and pondered and worried. The dark cloud hanging over him roiled like a metaphorical storm. Tonight was going to be frantic. Anders had to brew potions, take inventory of his depleted supplies, plan a run to the marketplace in the short time between Templar patrols, see if Hawke would give him a spare lyrium potion or two in case there was another emergency-

Someone sat down on the stool next to him, and a hand, dark and lined with lyrium, entered his line of sight. Fenris had interesting hands. Beautiful hands, and Anders was fine with admitting it. There was something enchanting about how hands revealed so much about a person. You could recognize an archer from the calluses on their fingers and thumbs, and separate them from the Mages and sword masters with their roughened palms. Fenris’ hands were incredible… capable was the first word that came to his mind. Fenris had hands that screamed “I can take care of that.” Anders nearly sighed into his ale at the thought. What he would give to be taken care of, but while Fenris was a steady strength to lean on in the battlefield he wasn’t exactly the most tender of people when it came to feelings. 

At least, that was how Fenris was in Anders’ experience. They tended to snap at each other, save for… memories of heated skin and soft laughter, of careful teasing and caution, so much caution, flooded his mind. It was just one night, but Fenris’ touch lingered. _Burned_. They fucked- coitus interfemoris, Anders thought with a smile- and dozed in the bed, reveling in touches that weren’t tinged with the desperate need to get off. Eventually they cleaned up with the water in the pitcher on the washstand, got dressed, and made their awkward, brief goodbyes before sneaking away. That was it, a one-time occurrence, a strange encounter that seemed to ease the edge off of all their conversations now. You really couldn’t continue to hold a grudge against a man when you felt him tremble against you and murmur soft words in your ear. Well, you _could_ , but Anders was rather flattered by the compliments Fenris showered on him, though he wondered if Fenris even realized he was mumbling sweet words and praises into Anders’ neck. Anders barely recognized what Fenris was saying, his words a mix of lyrical Tevene interspersed with Common, but he knew enough to recognize that Fenris called him pretty and likened his freckles to constellations and well… wasn’t too often that you had poetry murmured against your skin while you had your cock stroked, was it?

But that was a one time event. He’d hold the memory close and remember it with fondness, but he and Fenris were just going to go their separate ways now. They hadn’t even seen each other since that night, and now… Anders frowned, setting his mug down on the table. Now Fenris was here, sitting next to him, his hand spread out on the table like an invitation, and Anders hadn’t the slightest idea what to do next.

Fenris didn’t seem to sense the awkwardness in the air, or, more likely, didn’t give a solitary fuck.

“You are quiet tonight,” Fenris remarked with his usual bluntness.

“Bad day,” Anders muttered. Fenris made a little sound, a short, low hum that rumbled through Anders’ ears.

“I heard. An accident at the Bone Pit,” Fenris said. “You… I heard it was bad.”

“It was. Could have been worse, if I wasn’t fast enough, or if the workers who weren’t caught in the wreckage didn’t immediately begin their rescue, or if-“ Anders bit his lip to prevent himself from saying more, to stop himself from breaking down into tears in front of Fenris. It was one thing to be vulnerable in bed, to fuck and share pleasure. It was another thing entirely to cry in front of your… not enemy, not quite friend, not lover save for that one time. He didn’t know what he expected Fenris to do- mock him? Scoff and declare that nothing had happened so why was Anders so morose? A thousand possible conversations ran through his head, and Anders waited, jaw clenched and body tense, for what Fenris would say next.

Fenris looked at him with his green eyes as sharp as a knife. “You need a distraction,” he said, which was not what Anders expected. But was Fenris wrong? No.

“Any ideas? The ale isn’t doing much for me, and you know how I am with cards,” Anders retorted. “And the less we discuss philosophy the better.” In the cold light of day Anders wondered how they managed through their first encounter without fighting like they always did. Was it just a sense of goodwill? Lust overriding common sense? Or were they both just tired? Maker knew Anders was tired of fighting, of always defending himself from one of Fenris’ perfectly timed barbed remarks or accusatory glares. When he approached Fenris that night it was to try and bury some of that anger and hurt with a joke and some form of payment (he _had_ lost the card game, after all). He just hadn’t expected it to end so… well, to end without a fight. Instead there was laughter, and gentle touches, and even a joke or two (who would have thought Fenris could be funny?).

But now Anders was tired and irritable, and none of those charitable feelings from that night lingered. He wanted to drink, to brood, and Fenris’ presence was preventing him from doing either with much success. It was hard to out-brood Fenris, after all. Fenris, for his part, merely reached into the pouch at his side and pulled out a faded red velvet coin purse.

“I made an interesting discovery in the manor’s study last week,” Fenris remarked, setting the coin purse in front of him before undoing the satin drawstring stained with age. “I thought you might appreciate it.” With that he reached into the pouch and scattered a few bronze coins between them- spintriae. Old ones, judging by the patina and the faded engravings, but still!

“The former resident indulged in vices beyond their extensive wine collection,” Fenris added as Anders stared at the coin. “I thought I would share in the bounty.” There’s a sly, teasing note to Fenris’ voice that made Anders’ heart race, a slight lilt to the way he said ‘share’ that made it feel like he and Anders were in on a special joke made only for them.

“We are not getting through all these tonight,” Anders replied quickly. He was shocked when Fenris tilted his head back and laughed, truly laughed, the sound bright and wild and strong like the roar of a river running over rocks. He’d heard Fenris chuckle, heard him sigh a huff of amusement when he was trying to act dignified. He’d even heard Fenris snort while hiding his smile behind his hand, but laugh? He’d never heard him _laugh_.

Again. He wanted to do it again. Make Fenris laugh, that is. Maybe he’d make it a contest, a secret one, just for him. Could he make Fenris laugh again? Could he do it in shared company? Alone? In the bedroom- oh Maker, that would be something, wouldn’t it? 

“Pick one to start with,” Fenris suggested. “Same offer as last time?”

“Really?” Anders could hardly believe it. He subtly pinched the skin of the back of his hand. This couldn’t be real, couldn’t possibly be real. But he didn’t wake up in the back room of his clinic, and Fenris was still here, staring at him with a steady calm that Anders just… couldn’t understand.

“We had fun. There were rules. It was… I felt safe. I assumed that you did as well,” Fenris explained slowly, as if he was seeking out just the right words to explain himself. There was a time that Anders would have rolled his eyes and stormed off, certain that Fenris was merely pausing before delivering some crushing remark about Anders, Justice, magic, or some variation thereof. There was a time that Anders would have snapped, and Fenris would retaliate, and they would bicker at each other until one of their friends interrupted them. There was a time that they would have fought, then run.

“I- yes. It was… it was a good time. Surprising, but good,” Anders agreed, his voice soft, caught up in memory and a sudden, sharp pang of longing.

It was strange to sit there at the table, waiting for Fenris to speak. It felt strange to feel content while waiting. Not a bad strange, though. Anders… could get used to it. The waiting. The quiet. The heated encounters. He could even acclimate himself to the intimacy afterwards. He already wanted it. He yearned for the softness after sex, longed for the way Fenris curled around his back with his arm slung over his ribs and stomach, his palm warm and firm against his abdomen. Anders could get used to that, and complacency was a dangerous thing. Made everything harder when it was taken away. So he should refuse, should turn it away with a smile and just keep that night in his memories, he should, he should, he should-

“My eyes aren’t nearly as sharp as yours,” Anders finally said instead. “Is that a seven or a six?” He pointed to the coin in question, and took obscene delight in watching Fenris’ brow furrow in concentration as he stared at the coin. He ran his finger along the degraded engraving and Anders wanted that finger, that hand, to run along his spine. He wanted Fenris to read every bony bump and ridge down his back and learn his story- and he shouldn’t want it, he shouldn’t! It would be better if he left now, if he went back to his clinic and brewed his potions and took inventory-

“Six. Fellatio, in Minrathous. What does it mean in the south?” Fenris said, his voice breaking through Anders’ thoughts like light piercing through the dark.

“In my experience? Handjobs,” Anders replied automatically, and Fenris grinned. Well and truly _grinned_ , and it was as if the years melted off of him in that instant. He had always known Fenris was handsome in his own way- strong features, pretty eyes, lithe and muscular- but he’d never thought he’d be more attractive when his grim features were softened by laughter, by joy.

“Yes, a cock with wings does leave itself open to interpretation, doesn’t it?” Fenris laughed, and he rose to his feet. “So? I’m open to either, and you seem in need of a distraction, Anders.”

“A distraction, huh?” Anders replied, rising to join Fenris. “I-” Anders paused. Was this too much? Was he overindulging in this? Once was an aberration, twice meant that he was dangerously close to forming a _habit_ , and he wanted but it was dangerous to want! That was the risk with forming relationships- oh Maker, this was a relationship, wasn’t it? It was something that Anders wanted to go beyond one night, and he didn’t have space in his life for that. Not now, maybe not ever. He should politely decline Fenris’ invitation to go upstairs. He should go back home. He should go back to work and forget about Fenris’ soft sighs in his ears and the warmth of his skin, his touch- 

“Why not?” Anders asked, and when Fenris smiled it felt like the sun was beaming down on him.

“Head upstairs, I’ll join you in a moment,” Fenris murmured, and he trailed his fingers along Anders’ wrist. It was like he was reading Anders, just like the coin, just like he wanted, and he was burning for Fenris’ touch. Anders walked up the stairs with a lightness in his step that he hadn’t felt when he entered The Hanged Man.

So it was just one more encounter to stack on the first one. They had fun! And Anders needed to unwind. This was a brilliant idea- they argued everywhere else, but this was a shared language between the two of them, a language made of touch and coins. It was _something_ , and Anders desperately needed something, someone, to hang onto right now.

And if Fenris was that someone, well, it was their business.

It wasn’t until they were both in the same room, falling into bed together and fumbling with clothes, that Anders realized they hadn’t actually discussed what they were doing. Fenris had him pinned to the mattress, his thick thighs braced against Anders’ hips like a belt, like a weight, like a restraint. A part of him- the wild part, the one that ran from the Circle so many times that he no longer knew what else to do but run- wanted to buck Fenris off of him and run back to his clinic. And the other part? The other part, the larger part now, was so, so _tired_. Fenris shifted his weight, leaned back and away until he settled comfortably between Anders’ legs to look down at him with a critical, yet curious expression in his eyes.

“The hair down here is a different shade to the hair on your head,” Fenris remarked as he took Anders’ half-hard cock in his hand. His gaze was sharp, almost… Anders stifled a giggle in his forearm. The look Fenris was giving him was _studious_ , like he was going to be quizzed about this scenario later! But then Fenris ran the pad of his thumb along the base of his cock, teasing the sensitive skin there, and all thoughts fled Anders’ head for one blessed moment as he whined and arched into Fenris’ touch.

“ _Fuck_!” Anders croaked when Fenris repeated the motion, then cupped his palms in his palm.

“You’re flushed. All pink, like a sunburn,” Fenris said softly, returning his hand to Anders’ cock and squeezing once before leaning over the side of the bed to rummage through his clothes. Anders lifted himself up to his elbows and tried to catch his breath.

“Ah, what are you looking for?” he asked, mostly to prevent himself from begging Fenris to go back to touching him- touch me, make me forget about how awful today was, make me _scream_ and forget my own name-

“This,” Fenris grunted, and he pulled himself back up and settled between Anders’ sprawled out legs. He held a vial of golden-green colored liquid for Anders to inspect, then uncorked it. The scent of green filled the air.

“Olive oil? Seriously?” Anders asked as Fenris poured the oil into his palm, corked the vial, and let it drop into his pile of clothing. “You planned this all out, didn’t you?” Anders couldn’t even find it in him to be outraged. It would be a lie anyways, because Anders was rather impressed. And pleased. Thank you, Fenris. He had the best ideas, really.

“I did. Hands on the headboard, Anders,” Fenris ordered, and Anders complied. He wrapped his hands around the posts and clung to them as Fenris took his cock in his now slick hand and squeezed. Anders yelped, hips bucking involuntarily upwards sharply. Fenris laughed, his breath ghosting over Anders’ sensitive skin.

“Easy,” Fenris murmured, and Anders tried not to moan- it was so easy to just lay back and let Fenris take charge. He wanted to give control over, he wanted to stop _thinking_ for one Maker-damned night- but his stupid mouth couldn’t stop itself. The body was willing, the mind _wanted_ , but habit insisted that Anders backtalk. Take charge. Never yield.

“I’m not a horse,” Anders retorted, which only seemed to draw another breathy laugh out of Fenris. He pinned Anders’ hips with his forearm and grinned up at him, his hand slipping up and down Anders’ cock in an agonizingly slow, repetitive motion.

“You weren’t nearly so mouthy last time,” Fenris said. “Keep your hands up.”

And with that order Fenris dropped his head and kissed the tip of Anders’ cock before engulfing it in his mouth. Anders gasped and wriggled against the bed, against Fenris’ hold, desperate for more touch, desperate to take charge because it was overwhelming to be pinned to the bed and not be allowed to react, but Fenris kept on touching him. He licked at Anders’ cock, wrapped his oiled hand around the base and firmly stroked, and he never relented. It was as if he was _determined_ to drive Anders out of his mind with pleasure, and was cataloguing every single sigh and moan, every twitch and shudder, so that he could use that information later. He removed one hand from the headboard to reach towards Fenris, to touch him, to see if his hair was as soft as it looked. Fenris lifted his head, lips shiny and slightly red, and he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Anders. Hands up,” he ordered. Anders complied, but it wasn’t as if he was going to do it quietly.

“Not fair,” Anders complained. “I’m supposed to lay here and what? Wriggle my nose?”

“You’re supposed to lay back and enjoy,” Fenris retorted before returning his attention to Anders’ cock, dragging his fingernail up and down the sensitive underside. He seemed to revel in every gasp and choked curse he dragged out of Anders’ mouth. Anders writhed and arched into Fenris’ touch, but Fenris continued his light torture.

“Fenris!” Anders groaned. “Just- please!”

“Please what?”

“I- use your hand! Please!” he gasped. Pleaded. Fenris paused, hand hovering over Anders’ cock. Anders could have sworn that he felt Fenris’ hand, a phantom touch against his skin, and he wondered, almost hysterically, if that was just the lyrium interacting with the magic coursing through his veins.

“Hands. Up. Anders,” Fenris replied, his voice Anders returned his hands to the bedposts and gripped them so tightly his knuckles turned white. Fenris wrapped his hand around Anders’ cock and stroked firmly, twisting as he stroked up. 

“Let me take charge,” Fenris murmured as he stroked Anders’ cock. “You need a distraction, I need a distraction, and you’ve done enough today. Let me do this, hmm?”

That sounded like a brilliant idea. Anders dropped his head down against the pillows and let Fenris continue speaking to him.

“You don’t like giving up control, do you?” Fenris murmured, and if Anders wasn’t completely dazed with lust he might have caught a note of wonder in Fenris’ voice. But he could barely think, and by the time his mind caught up with him Fenris dropped his head back down and fucking licked under the shaft of his-

“Fenris!” Anders shouted when Fenris sucked the head of his cock. The lyrium in his hand flared, bright and blue and blinding as Fenris stroked upwards, and Anders came hard enough that his toes curled into the sheets and his back arched upwards until it _hurt_. Too much, it was too much! Fenris’ mouth was perfect as he nipped against the skin of his inner thigh while Anders came down from his orgasm. He was sensitive and overwrought, barely able to keep from sobbing as his cock twitched against his belly and Fenris’s hair brushed against his skin, tickling and all he wanted was to touch Fenris, grasp his hair in his fingers, pull him up so they could, they could-

CRACK!

And Anders’ hands were suddenly free. Mostly free. He was holding onto half of a splintered bedpost in his right hand, the other free and clutching empty air. Fenris slowly rose up from the mattress, looming over Anders with a smug smile on his lips. Anders wanted to kiss that smile until they couldn’t breathe, but that wasn’t what they did. That wasn’t who they were. But oh, right now he wished they were! Instead he watched as Fenris’ lips twitched, his eyes brightened, and he let out a small snort, then a giggle that was so endearing Anders felt as if his heart cracked along with the bedpost.

“You’re going to help me explain this to Norah,” Anders finally said, waving the broken bedpost in his hand in front of Fenris’ face. Fenris’ quiet giggle grew into a great roar of laughter that was _almost_ as rewarding as a kiss.

_**The Hanged Man, Present Day** _

“... and the Healer and Fenris had to walk down, face red as a cherry, and tell Corff that the bed was broken but not to worry, because “Fen will pay for it.” Like we all hadn’t heard the crack of the bedpost like a blast of thunder!” Norah exclaimed, and she sighed fondly as she spread a fitted sheet over the now clean and freshly fluffed straw mattress.

“The two of them are sweet, though. Always coming by, dancing around each other like we all don’t know what they’re up to. They think they’re subtle,” Norah added with a laugh. “Why, we even got Maraas in on the betting pool, and you know he never takes interest in gossip! Might’ve been a mistake, considering he won the pot. Very smug about it too, in his own way.”

“Maraas? Smug?” Isabela repeated. Didn’t exactly sound like Maraas. The qunari man was so stern that she hadn’t seen him smile once, let alone be smug! Varric, however, took something else from the comment.

“What betting pool? Norah, I’m feeling left out! No one mentioned a betting pool to me!” he said with a chuckle. Norah scoffed and fluffed a pillow before tossing it to the head of the bed.

“That’s because you’d cheat, Messere Tethras. Everyone knows we wouldn’t have a fair shot at winning if you were involved. Might influence the people we’re betting on,” she retorted. “Same with you, Isabela, we know you and Fenris and the healer are all friends. Wouldn’t be fair at all if you were involved.”

“Of course,” Isabela replied. “But that doesn’t explain how Maraas _won_.”

“Or what the pool was about,” Varric added. Norah rolled her eyes and grabbed a quilt out of the basket. She snapped it violently in the air before folding it and setting it down on the foot of the bed in a neat, faded pink and brown square against the linen sheets.

“If you really must know, Maraas caught them in the hallway last week. Don’t tease ‘em,'' Norah warned them. “Or I’ll have words with you both.” She eyed her carpet beater with a little too much glee, and Isabela wondered, for one brief second, if Norah could beat them both in a fight. Probably not, but considering the way Norah looked at that carpet beater…

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Isabela said, crossing her fingers behind her back and hoping that Norah would buy the lie. No, definitely not, the woman was glaring fiercely at her now, and she had crossed her surprisingly muscular arms over her chest. Norah always had a sharp tongue, but Isabela hadn’t noticed the muscle. Granted, she’s always been deep in her cups so she hadn’t bothered to notice.

“Only a bit of light ribbing, once they sort themselves out and tell us,” Isabela amended.

“I’m curious what Maraas has to say about all this,” Varric remarked. “And how come all of you knew about this while we didn’t have a clue? Fenris and Blondie are our friends, after all.” He sounded relaxed and contemplative, but Isabela detected the little note of hurt that poked through Varric’s words. Fenris might be tight-lipped, but Varric and Anders were close.

“Well, he should still be down in the tavern if you want to talk to him,” Norah replied. “And we’re the ones that see those two lovebirds every week, of course we know what they’re up to!”

“Well, we’ll just go down and have a chat with him. Thanks for your time, Norah,” Isabela said quickly, and she hustled out of the room with Varric and shut the door behind them. They stood together in the hallway, weak sunlight filtering through the window at the end of the hall, the sound of the early lunch crowd drifting up from below.

“Sweet? Fenris and Anders, _sweet_?!l” Isabela asked, and Varric shook his head. There was a wry sort of sadness in his eyes, like he was both amused and disappointed all at once.

“Can’t believe we missed it. They’ve been doing this for months and kept us all unaware,” Varric murmured. “I’ve been a shit friend, if Blondie felt he had to keep this a secret from me.”

“I know Fenris isn’t the friendliest of fellows, but we still talk!” Isabela replied, her own hurt rising inside her chest. Fenris kept to himself, true, but Isabela always managed to coax some laughter and information out of that solemn face. Why hadn’t he shared this new development with Anders with her? Why was it that the people at The Hanged Man knew more about Fenris and Anders than they did?! Did Fenris and Anders not trust them? The thought stung more than Isabela cared to admit.

“Guess the only way we’ll find answers is if we talk to Maraas,” Varric said, and he gestured towards the stairs. “After you?”

“Thank you, Varric,” Isabela replied, and together they headed downstairs to speak with Maraas. There were still a few blank spaces in this story. What was the betting pool Norah mentioned even about? What were Fenris and Anders doing in the hallway when Maraas caught them? And why didn’t Fenris and Anders mention this arrangement of theirs to any of them? Fueled by curiosity, concern, and a little bit of hurt, Isabela entered the tavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. ab imo pectore (from the chest)

Maraas was wrapping up his card game when Isabela and Varric approached him. He took one long look at them, dark eyes raking over them with careful consideration, and he deftly ended the game of Wicked Grace by revealing his hand. After his opponent gracefully ceded the game with a grunt and an exchange of coin, he shuffled off towards the bar. Maraas gestured towards the now vacated seat and kicked a stool out from underneath the table.

“You wish to speak with me, yes?” Maraas asked, fixing Isabela with his stare. It wasn’t exactly intimidating, just… knowing. A little unnerving, but nothing Isabela hadn’t encountered before. And it was Maraas, who she knew. Vaguely. Maintaining an aura of quiet menace was why he got a job at The Hanged Man in the first place! Isabela sat down at the empty seat across from Maraas as Varric settled down on the stool with a heavy sigh.

“Damn, word gets around fast,” Varric said.

“No. But I saw you speak to Corff. Then you went upstairs before you came to speak with me. I assume you spoke with Norah?” Maraas asked. Isabela had never heard him speak more than two sentences, but now that was three solid sentences out of Maraas’ mouth!

“Well, we had a few questions-“ Isabela began to say, and Maraas snorted loudly.

“I did not cheat. I won the pool fairly. Tell Norah that,” Maraas interrupted, and he jerked his head sharply towards the stairs. He crossed his impressively large arms (size of young trees, those arms!) over his broad chest and glowered down at the two of them. There was a reason The Hanged Man’s ambiance was relatively calmer than the other taverns in Lowtown. Between Corff’s stern frown, Norah’s sharp tongue, and Maraas’ intense glare, no one was going to act up too much in The Hanged Man.

“No, no, of course you didn’t cheat! Norah never said that!” Varric exclaimed.

“She grumbled about the winnings a little bit,” Isabela added. “But I think she was more jealous that you, uh-“

“Caught our friends in the act, as it were,” Varric finished. This seemed to reassure Maraas, and he almost slouched back in his seat, his rigid posture relaxing just enough that his shoulders touched the back of his chair.

“Would have never thought Norah was a romantic,” Isabela remarked. “She’s so stern!”

“The healer and Fenris are a fascinating pair,” Maraas replied. “They are interesting to watch.”

“A little creepy,” Varric mumbled. “Not that we can talk, right Rivani?” Isabela nodded in agreement- they _were_ snooping on their friends, after all. Even if those friends were keeping enormous secrets from all of them and apparently didn’t trust them enough to talk about this enormous change in their lives- she breathed in deeply. Calm. They had information to dig up. She met Maraas’ steady gaze with her own.

“So you caught them kissing in the hall, Maraas?” Isabela asked.

“It is my job to watch,” Maraas said. “I wondered if the two of them would fight and burn the building down, but now we simply… watch.”

And what did you say to that, really? Anders and Fenris were clearly the operetta of The Hanged Man, the drama that kept on giving to those who worked and patronized the tavern. Uncovering their tale was an entertaining way to spend a morning, and there was something sweet about how everyone had easily accepted the arrangement between Anders and Fenris. Rooted for them, even, in their own way.

“How did we miss this?” Isabela murmured. This was all so unexpected, and to be left out of it all- the exclusion stung almost as sharply as the fact that her observational skills were _clearly_ in need of a workout. She was normally so good at sniffing out affairs of the heart (or simple affairs, truth be told), yet Anders and Fenris had been tumbling into bed together for _months_!

“It is hardly your fault,” Maraas remarked. “They always meet when you are all away. How can you observe them when you aren’t here?”

_**The Hanged Man, Last Week**_

Fenris sighed and sank into the armchair by the fire. It was technically Varric’s seat, but he wasn’t about to complain about the theft considering he was with Hawke, Merrill, and Isabela up on Sundermount and wouldn't be back until next week. And Fenris was exhausted. He worked dockside from sunrise until sunset today, unloading cargo from merchant vessels and serving as a translator for the multitude of merchants and dock workers as they walked from pier to pier, ship to ship. It was exhausting work, but even the bone deep exhaustion felt fulfilling. And the jingle of the coin in his purse was a welcome weight at his side. It was nice to make a living doing something other than killing for a change, and he found himself listening to and laughing with the other workers, and even the guards outside the Qunari compound joined in on the conversations. Yes, they were obviously spying, but it was nice to speak with people outside of Hawke and their shared companions. 

“Well. You look comfortable.” Anders’ voice floated into his ears like a butterfly alighting on a wildflower, or something else that was soft and fluttered. A bird in hand, perhaps? There was something in Anders’ voice that felt delicate. Hesitant, ready to fly away at the first sign of trouble. Fenris opened up his eyes and gazed up into Anders’ face. He was… smiling. He looked relaxed. Well-rested. The firelight danced merrily in the hearth, and the light flickered across his face and hair, and- well, it wasn’t a surprise that Anders was an attractive man. Fenris just wasn’t expecting that punch of desire to hit him as strongly as it did that first night they- 

“Care to join me?” Fenris offered, gesturing towards the other empty seat next to the fire. Anders flopped into the chair and smiled at him. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled, and Fenris wanted to kiss them. Kiss them! Strange that they hadn’t kissed before. They’d done nearly everything else, meeting regularly every week here at The Hanged Man to rent a room and fuck until they collapsed in a sweaty, satisfied heap on the bed (a much sturdier bed, Fenris thought with a smirk). Eventually one of them would rise, they’d clean up, and both of them would leave to explore other haunts- Anders to his clinic, Fenris to the manor. And they would meet up again. And again. It was a habit now, verging on _tradition_ , and Fenris took some small delight in having made a tradition for himself- every week he and Anders met up and had sex. Sex with clear rules that both parties followed to the letter. 

They had no rules for kisses, though. Fenris hadn’t the slightest idea where to start with kissing. 

“You look well,” Fenris remarked, and Anders smiled. 

“Glad you think so. No emergencies to deal with this time around, so I thought I’d come in for a bit of atmosphere and company. You, however, look tired. Long day, Fenris?” Anders asked. Fenris sighed and sank further into the worn leather of the armchair. He was tempted to curl up his legs and settle into the cushioned warmth like a cat, but he had some manners- Varric would murder him for getting his feet on _his_ chair. 

“Exhausting,” Fenris replied. “I spent most of it playing translator and moving crates. Plenty of work on the docks, but between the lifting and the smell of fish-” he shuddered, perhaps exaggerating his disgust a little in order to make Anders laugh. His ploy worked, and Anders’ light laughter was a musical lilt that filled the room. 

“Oh, you poor man,” Anders said. “You’re in need of some relaxation, hmm?” The low purr in his voice made Fenris’ blood pump faster. When Anders leaned forward in his seat and slipped his hand into Fenris’. He pressed a brass coin into Fenris’ palm and winked. 

“Want me to take care of those sore muscles for you?” Anders asked with a smile. Fenris snorted when he caught a glimpse of the coin in the firelight. He pressed the engraving of the two figures reclining on a couch into his thumb and watched as Anders’ brown eyes went dark with want. 

“Upstairs?” Fenris murmured, and Anders quickly rose to his feet. 

“I’ll speak with Corff. Upstairs,” he agreed, and it was as if both of them had wings on their feet as they moved from their seats. The bone-deep exhaustion melted away in the face of another round of heated, mutually benefical sex. 

When Fenris’ back hit the soft mattress and Anders loomed over him, naked and pale as moonlight, Fenris sighed in pure delight. Anticipation curled up in his stomach like a snake when Anders ran his hand down Fenris’ side. The lyrium in his skin jumped and hummed with his own desire, and Anders grinned. His laugh was bright and warm, and he gripped Fenris’ hip in one hand and curled his other hand around Fenris’ cock, his hand already slick with oil. 

“You need me to take care of you, hmm?” Anders asked. Fenris sighed and spread his legs open to let Anders crowd in close. Anders simply stroked and played with Fenris’ cock, rubbing his thumb against the head and smearing pre-come up and down the sensitive skin. As Fenris clutched at the sheets underneath him and tried to control his breathing, Anders began to speak to him. 

“You never let anyone else take charge, do you, Fenris? You like having control,” Anders murmured. “Just like me. It’s hard to let someone else take care of you. But you showed me just how rewarding it can be to let go.” Anders traced his finger along the underside vein of Fenris’ cock, and Fenris _whimpered_ as the touch raced through his veins and sent thrills up his spine. 

“Aren’t I lucky?” Anders cooed, and he bent down to nibble at his hip bone. His hair tickled the inside of Fenris’ thigh, and the scruff of his beard scratched at his skin, and Fenris groaned as Anders reached up and rubbed the pad of his thumb along his side, tracing the lines and dots of the engraved lyrium. 

“Nothing to say, Fenris? You’re usually so talkative,” Anders added as he clambered up, dragging himself up to straddle Fenris’ hips, his cock jutting out proudly, pink and dripping. The sight nearly took Fenris’ breath away. Anders’ smug expression was oddly endearing, a mix of pride and tenderness that Fenris wanted to take apart. He wanted to make him tremble, wanted to see him flushed and smiling, the light from the oil lamp turning his hair to spun gold. 

“Can’t find the words,” Fenris replied. “You look like the sun.” He smiled as a flush spread all over Anders, from his cheeks down to his chest, rosy nipples perky in the cool air. But as soon as Fenris reached up to touch him, to grasp his hair, to pull him down, Anders wiggled out of the way and settled down on Fenris’ thighs, a wicked smile back on his face. But his eyes were soft and wide, startled and pleased all at once. Fenris smiled back and politely placed his hands back on the mattress. 

“You’re such a poet, Fenris,” Anders murmured. “Always so many pretty words. Makes me blush.” 

“Good,” Fenris retorted. He tangled his fingers in the bedsheet and grinned up at Anders, baring his teeth as a challenge. 

“You’re lovely when you’re on top of me, pink like an apple blossom,” Fenris murmured, and he was delighted when Anders’ pink flush deepened to a rosy red. “You’re so sweet when you’re like this, did you know? It’s such a surprise to find the softness under your thorns, such a pleasure to know both the sweet and the bitter. Pretty Anders.” 

“I suppose I need to work harder to be deserving of all this flattery, Fenris,” Anders murmured. He took Fenris’ cock and carefully guided himself down until it was buried inside of him and all there was was slick heat and warmth- 

“Fasta vass!” Fenris hissed, and his hips stuttered as Anders rocked against him. 

“Tell me what you need,” Anders said sweetly as he moved, and Fenris tried to remember what words even _meant_. He was so- this wasn’t- Anders was glorious above him, smiling brightly and eyes narrowed in pleasure, and Fenris wanted to touch every part of him. He grabbed Anders’ thigh and weakly pulled at him, urging him onward. 

“You,” Fenris croaked, and Anders’ little gasp of pleasure and the way he clenched around his cock was enough to drive Fenris over the edge. The lyrium in his skin flashed, Anders yelped, and then collapsed on top of Fenris as he shuddered. His cum spilled across Fenris’ stomach, Anders’ leaking cock trapped between them. Fenris’ own cock slipped out of Anders, and Anders whined. 

“Fuck- we never tried that before, huh?” Anders wheezed, and Fenris wrapped his arm around Anders’ waist and moved them around until Anders was half on top of him, half tucked in beside him. He used the corner of the bedsheet to clean the both of them, sending a silent apology to Norah for the mess she would have to clean tomorrow. At least the bed was intact this time. 

“It was a surprise,” Fenris said. “I haven’t… lost control like that before.” He was good at keeping his head. He prided himself on his control, and yet he couldn’t shake the sense of ease that came from letting Anders take charge and take him in hand. 

“Mmmm. Mission accomplished, then,” Anders mumbled. “I’m just going to… rest my eyes.” 

That, Fenris thought, was a wonderful idea.

Fenris’ eyelids fluttered open when Anders rolled over in the bed. It wasn’t just the sudden shift of weight in the mattress that woke him from his dozing- the loss of warmth at his side was as jarring a change. Anders dragged himself up into a sitting position, legs dangling off the side of the bed. Fenris stared at the long line of Anders’ back, the flickering flame of the oil lamp highlighting his bony spine and broad shoulders. He wanted to reach over the expanse of the bed and trace his finger from freckle to freckle. He wanted to kiss every scar along his back, from the mass of thick white scarring in the middle of his back to the faint lines that criss-crossed right above the slight curve of his ass. There were clear battle injuries, puncture wounds and sword and knife slashes that they both bore on their bodies. There was a story of a life, Anders’ life, etched in his skin, and Fenris wanted to read it. He wanted to know and be known in turn. 

It was such a small distance to cross, but it might as well be an ocean. So much history lay between them. Yet Fenris still reached out and carefully traced his fingertip down the bony ridge of Anders’ spine. When Anders stiffened under his touch he retracted that fingertip and raised himself up on his elbow. 

“Leaving so soon?” Fenris asked, hoping to sound cheeky. Instead his voice came out soft and questioning and- too vulnerable. Too sincere. But where else could he be vulnerable, if not here? 

“Have some work to do,” Anders replied softly. “Go back to sleep.” He turned, leaned over Fenris, and firmly pressed his lips against Fenris’ forehead. Fenris curled his hand around Anders’ wrist and clung to him like a vine clinging to a sun-drenched wall. 

“Not tired,” Fenris insisted, and he dragged himself up to sit upright. Anders touched his forehead against Fenris’, his eyes closed, his breath ghosting against Fenris’ lips. If he was brave enough he could tilt his head just so and kiss Anders squarely on the mouth, but fear held him back. He and Anders had their rules. Kissing him would mean challenging these boundaries and forming something new. And the new was, as always, a frightening thing to comprehend. 

“Fen, you’re exhausted,” Anders murmured, but he didn’t stop Fenris from stumbling out of bed to get dressed. 

“I’ll walk you back to the clinic,” Fenris insisted. “It’s dangerous at night.” 

“I’m not going to dissuade you from this, am I?” Anders replied, but he rose up from the bed and got dressed as well. They kept brushing against each other as they moved around the room, hands touching as they handed each other their clothing. Soon enough they were dressed and left the room together, shoulders barely touching as they walked down the hall and down the stairs. There was a crush of people in the tavern, and Anders wrapped his hand around Fenris’ wrist to guide him away from the main floor and down the back hall. 

“Might be easier to get out this way,” he said, “as you insist on walking me home. Are you planning to court me as well? Flowers and chocolates?” It sounded like a joke, just a standard round of Anders and his light teasing, but Fenris knew him now, knew him better than he had before they came to this arrangement. He saw the way Anders was holding himself, shoulders tense and mouth held in a strained smirk, and suddenly Anders’ words from earlier in the night came back to haunt him. _”It’s hard to let someone else take care of you.”_

“... would you like flowers and chocolates, Anders?” Fenris asked, and when Anders hesitated Fenris knew his answer. Words were never easy, but actions- all it took was a little courage and some faith. He reached up, reached out, cradled Anders’ head in his hand and tangled his fingers in his hair. Before he could change his mind or let his doubts overtake him, Fenris kissed Anders.  


It was awkward. Anders’ sharp nose pressed into Fenris’ cheekbone at an odd angle, and Fenris could admit that he hadn’t the slightest idea of what he was doing. But then Anders tilted his head down, took Fenris’ free hand in his own and pulled him closer, and soon he took charge, sighing with every movement of their mouths. He playfully nipped at Fenris’ lower lip, laughed against his mouth when Fenris shoved him against the wall, and it felt like the world melted away until it was only them in the hallway. Eventually Anders pulled away from him, his pale cheeks flushed with heat. Fenris only had a moment to take in Anders’ expression before Anders pulled him close again, burying his face into the crook of Fenris’ neck. 

“So… another?” Anders murmured, his cheek pressed against Fenris’ as they tried to catch their breath, hearts beating in sync, hands twined together and trapped between them. 

“I can try. Though that means renting the room from Corff again,” Fenris sighed, his breath stirring the hair at the back of Anders’ neck. He was tired, wrung-out emotionally, and physically exhausted from the long day and Anders’ enthusiasm, but if it meant more of this intimacy... 

“No, I- I meant kissing,” Anders clarified with a huff of quiet laughter. “Shame we haven’t done this earlier. The kissing, I mean. Might be nice to be wooed and all, but only if we get some kissing in the bargain.” 

“Then come here and kiss me again,” Fenris retorted, and he untangled his hand from Anders’ to grip the back of his head and press their mouths together once more. 

_**The Hanged Man, Present Day** _

“... and that is what I saw, before Fenris told me to mind my gaze,” Maraas finished his story with a solemn nod and a glance towards the back hall that everyone used for covert escapes from the Guard, the Templars, the Coterie, and any other miscellaneous groups or people. Of course, no one expected that it would be used for private assignations (most people who wanted that would go to the Rose, or, as Fenris and Anders had done, rent a room). Even the snug was used for private talks, but the hallway? 

Well, according to Maraas, it was apparent that feelings long bottled up fizzed over into a great and glorious explosion of… something. Kissing, obviously, and then some wild declarations of devotion and passion and- Isabela smiled and handed Varric a handkerchief she tucked into her belt pouch. He lazily swatted her hand away and shut his notebook before slipping it back into his coat pocket. 

“Thanks for talking with us, Maraas,” Varric said politely. “Think we’ve got a fuller picture of what our friends have been up to these past few months.” 

“They’re in every Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. Unless there is a crisis in Darktown or you are on an outing with Hawke,” Maraas replied with a shrug. “If you wish to catch them in the act-” 

“No ratting out our best customers, Maraas,” Corff called from the bar as Norah descended from upstairs, broom in hand and basket full of dirty linen under her arm. Maraas huffed and rolled his eyes, but there was a sort of smile playing on his mouth as he leaned back in his chair. 

“We’ll let them be,” Isabela said politely. “We’ve got lots to talk about now.” 

“Lots of things to consider as well,” Varric added, and he rose from his seat. “Thanks for the chat, Maraas.” Isabela quickly followed Varric back to where they started this morning. Weak afternoon sunshine poured through the windows set high up in the walls, and the fire burned hot against Isabela’s back as she settled back down on the bench. 

“Who would’ve thought they had it in them, huh?” Varric murmured, breaking the silence between them. “Never thought Fenris could be _sweet_.” 

“Or that Anders really was spicy. That is, I thought those days were behind him,” Isabela replied. “But it’s… that’s good for them. At least, it seems good for them. At least Anders is getting some sleep, and Fenris is… stepping out of his comfort zone. Bit unexpected, but… good? Like when you thought you wanted a fancy bit of fluff for dessert, but then you’re given something a little more substantial, and you discover that you didn’t really want the fluff but… this metaphor is getting away from me, but you get the idea.” She slumped in her seat, her elbows firmly planted on the scarred wood surface of the table. They discovered what was going on between their friends, so now what? What came next? She had no idea. 

“Here, Rivani. Buy you a drink?” Varric offered. Isabela nodded. Barely past noon and she already felt wrung out like a dishrag. Investigations were hard work! When Varric returned with two tankards of ale she wrapped her hands around the battered tin and sighed heavily. 

“Thanks, Varric. You’re a treasure,” Isabela said, and she raised the tankard up. “A toast to our friends, Fenris and Anders." 

“May they continue to break headboards and kiss in taverns,” Varric added cheerfully, and they clinked their tankards together. 

“I’ll drink to that!” Isabela laughed, and her spirits were considerably lightened at that remark. So perhaps she didn’t know where to go next with this information, but did she have to? Did she have to do anything beyond sit back and let everything simply… be? They could keep this a secret for now, as a favor to two beloved friends who had finally found some sense of joy together, against all odds. 

“We’ll give them another month or two,” Varric said. “Let them enjoy the honeymoon period, eh? And we might as well make them sweat it out for all the trouble we went through this morning!” 

“Varric, darling, you have the best ideas,” Isabela replied, and she raised her tankard to meet Varric’s with a dull, celebratory thud of tin against tin. 

_**Anders’ Clinic, Late Afternoon** _

Anders woke up in his own cot with Fenris’ hand in his hair, his fingers gently combing through the strands and untangling the mess of knots that always formed when he slept. He opened his eyes and peered up into Fenris’ calm, handsome face. 

“Fuck, I’ve slept half the day away,” Anders mumbled, but he didn’t rise up from the cot. Fenris’ hand was so soothing, and his entire body was pleasantly sore from their activities last night. Maker help him, Fenris had a gift for utterly decimating him in nearly every avenue of their lives- damn the man for being witty and surprisingly well-read as well as having the stamina to match his own and the sort of mischievous curiosity and creativity that left Anders reeling. It was one thing to have a harmonious meeting of minds in bed, but another to realize that that harmony could exist outside of the bedroom as well. 

But that was all beside the point- he had work to do and was now hopelessly behind because Fenris insisted on fucking him so well that he couldn’t even be roused out of bed the next morning. How had he even gotten back from The Hanged Man? 

“Lirene’s watching the clinic like a hawk. Not our Hawke, of course,” Fenris amended quickly with a grin that lived more in his eyes than his mouth. “A much more observant hawk.” 

“Wonderful,” Anders groaned. “She sent everyone off, did she?” He could already picture Lirene’s severe frown and sharp words, and both he and Justice recoiled at the thought that someone in need might have gone without because he couldn’t be bothered to wake up on time. 

“We would have woken you if it were an emergency. Or if they had an appointment,” Fenris assured him. “It was a quiet day.” 

“Thanks be to the Maker,” Anders grumbled sarcastically. “Alright, I’m getting up. And washing up. Can’t laze about all day.” 

“If I had planned to laze about I would have kept you up in The Hanged Man,” Fenris retorted, and he danced out of the way of Anders’ lazy swat. “Oh. Isabela and Varric saw us.” 

“What?” The faint but persistent desire to drop back into restful slumber fled his body as he thought of Isabela and Varric witnessing what he and Fenris did last night- did they see the part where Fenris twisted his hand just so and Anders sobbed in absolute pleasure? Or did they see when Anders took Fenris into his mouth and sucked him off until he was babbling poetry in Tevene and Qunari? Or was it- 

“They happened to be downstairs when we left. You were asleep at the time,” Fenris added, mirth still dancing in his eyes, and Anders sighed. Laughed too, but it was breathy and relieved- it wasn’t as if they were trying to keep this a secret anymore. At least, he wasn’t trying to be secretive about it, but old habits die hard and Anders was used to hiding parts of himself away like a squirrel stored food for the winter. It was just how things were. He shrugged and rose out of bed, stretching his arms luxuriously over his head until he felt the joints in his back crack with a satisfying pop. 

“Did they say anything?” Anders finally asked as he rose to his feet. He stumbled slightly before regaining his footing- damn, he was a little too old for wild nights! His body didn’t recover as quickly as it used to, but it felt like a waste to soothe the soreness away with magic. Besides, he liked the ache and burn of it- it was just another reminder of Fenris’ touch to match with the interesting set of bruises along his hips. 

“No. I think Varric may have fainted from shock,” Fenris replied. Typical Fenris, Anders thought fondly. Humor so dry you sometimes couldn’t tell if he was being honest or making a joke. 

“I’m sure Isabela found some brandy to revive him or something,” Anders said, drawing another snort of laughter from Fenris. “You… don’t mind? The association, I mean. It’s out in the open now, at least among our friends.” 

“If I minded I wouldn’t have acknowledged them,” Fenris said. “And you? You surely have some thoughts.” 

“At the moment I’m thinking about your rather impressive recovery,” Anders retorted as he hobbled across the room to his washstand. “We had each other bent over every piece of furniture in that room and yet you’re as spry as can be and I’m aching and bruised all over.” 

“That’s because you are ancient and delicate,” Fenris teased, and Anders splashed some water at Fenris, who once again danced out of the way, laughing all the while. Anders sighed and dipped his hands back into the washbasin, cupping the cool water in his hands to wash his face. 

“Go on, mock my old bones,” Anders muttered. “Anyhow, I don’t mind if Varric or Isabela know. Or any of the others. It’s… it will be nice to have it all out in the open. Strange, but nice.” It seemed like a dream, but a nice one. One that Anders had dreamed for a long time, where he could go out into the world and show the world that he could love and be loved without fear- 

“Good. I wasn’t planning on hiding either,” Fenris replied. “We do enough hiding as it is.” He turned his back towards Anders and ducked his head out into the main clinic. Apparently no one was in, because Fenris quickly returned and settled down on Anders’ workbench. Anders smiled at him, feeling a little bit foolish and over-eager, but he felt reassured when Fenris smiled back at him, lopsided and small. 

“My thoughts exactly,” Anders said. “I’m tired of hiding everyone and everything I care about.” 

“Then we are in agreement. No secrets, and no hiding,” Fenris sounded incredibly pleased, and Anders felt a rush of warm affection flood into his heart. He wasn’t ready for great declarations, not when this was new and fragile, but someday, someday soon, he’d find the right words and the right moment to tell Fenris that this was… that they were special. Someday soon. 

“As soon as I’m dressed, let’s go out. Grab lunch. There’s a stall with Rivani-style noodles, and I know you like spicier dishes,” Anders offered, and Fenris’ sly smile and the genuine delight in his eyes was precious. 

“Be careful,” Fenris teased. “Your delicate stomach might not be able to handle food with flavor in it.” 

“Oh, I’ll show you delicate!” Anders retorted, and as the two mock wrestled and jostled in the back room Anders marveled at his good fortune, the whims of fate, and their shared language of brass coins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there’s one story done! Thanks for sticking with this to the end. I appreciate it! I might add a short epilogue where Fenris and Anders announce their relationship to their friends, but that'll be something for another day. Thank you again for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
